That Which Evil Steals
by teazle
Summary: At the Black Gate, Aragorn and Legolas charge into a battle without hope. What will be stolen from them? AU UPDATED: chapter 1 revised, the tragedy is revealed and Legolas wakes up again!
1. Chapter 1: At the Black Gate

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, not making any money and if you want to sue me then...well, its mean to sue someone with as little money as me!**

Author's note: this is a revised version of chapter one cos I hated the version I first put up so much. I hope its an improvement! nothing has changed in storyline, its just that the writing is slightly better and less annoying I think.

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**That Which Evil Steals**

Chapter One:At the Black Gate

_All about the hills the hosts of Mordor raged. The sun gleamed red, and under the wings of the Nazgul the shadows of death fell dark upon the earth. Aragorn stood beneath his banner, silent and stern, as one lost in thought of things long past or far away; but his eyes gleamed like stars that shine the brighter as the night deepens. (J.R.R Tolkien – Return of the King)_

And so another shone as well, with eyes and with hair so fair it was seen even within the darkness that brought with it death. Legolas fought, and fought hard with blades of silver cutting through the dank and thickened bodies of the orcs. For a second there seemed to be a gap within the ceaseless, desperate battle that surrounded him and his clear sharp elven eyes saw through the tumult and chaos of bodies and war. Aragorn stood with mind elsewhere, and the Elf feared for his friend, that death would stalk and find him idle before his senses returned to place and time.

He set about a fight toward where Aragorn stood in seeming solitude, scything his way through walls of black and evil, until he came to be beside him, and shout his name through the cacophony of sound that rose up around them. Aragorn turned to him and set those shining eyes on others that did shine a brilliant blue, and a smile pulled at the corners of the face stained by time and war.

'Ah Legolas. And so we meet our end side by side, Elf and Man together within the waning of the sun, as the never ending darkness draws near to conquering those brave souls who joined with us in this hopeless slaughter.'

The elf paused in his contemplation of these words to stab into the back of an evil smelling creature who had crept to close to their impossible peace within the horrors of battle, and wipe his now stained blade along the armour of said creature, returning the silver to shining purity.

'I do not yet believe this to be the end, dear son of Arathorn, and nor will I till I lie slain and watch within the Halls of Mandos as the others of my kin join me there.' Aragorn smiled again at the words of the ever hopeful Elf, and gazed around him at the carnage that lay before them both.

'For me, I swore to Frodo that if by my life or death, I could be of service to him, so I would, and this would seem to be the time my death could be of dearest use to him, in his journey toward the fire.' Both of their minds then made way together to the hobbits, stripped of elven cloak and mithril vest, wherever they lay within the ever watchful nightfall of Mordor. And both wished that they could know where those two friends travelled, whether close to success or failure they stood. But Legolas' mind came back over dank lands and foul acid air to the battle field they stood on now, and his sharp eyes caught the sight of a dwarf wielding an axe with careless abandon and blood thirsty rage against the bodies of the enemy.

'And so, I promised I would spend my last breath in the company of the Dwarf but as he seems to be far from that place himself, I too will give my life in service to Frodo in the hope that it will aid him in helping all of fair and threatened Middle Earth.'

Their eyes met again, grey against the luminescent blue, and words and thoughts and love unspoken moved between their minds. Then they turned in unison and held their deadly weapons aloft to glint with what light was unknown and unseen within this foul and acrid place. Aragorn lead with charge of fury and Legolas followed with speed of blade and bow to dance a bitter dance with creatures who knew not the meaning of courage. He slashed and cut and shot with arrows that flew so quick they could not be seen in flight even with the sharpened senses of the Elves, and Aragorn beside him stabbed and slain with power and strength unseen and unmatched within the race of Orc.

Yet for every body that lay black beneath their feet, another soon came to combat with their sword, and in the glimpses the movement of battle afforded them, they could see their friends weary with the sheer weight of numbers that did press towards their blades. And so the Elf began to know that hope had no place within these dreadful lands, and this would truly be the end of Man and Elf and Dwarf together.

And his mind began to drift toward events past, toward safety and the familiar, well trod paths within his home of Mirkwood. He thought of trees that whispered of the ages and sang with stories of the old, and the touch of tender, warmth filled bark beneath his fair skin as he climbed to be at one with wind and stars that hung with undiminished purity within a velvet midnight sky. He thought of green moss, gentle and firm beneath his swift and running feet, and the taste of clear stream water as it ran with gay abandon down his welcoming throat. He thought of Boromir, carried with the wind along the river and down the rushing torrent of the relentless waterfall, and of Haldir, left behind but free from pain and evil in his ultimate sacrifice, having given as much as any man or being in this world can. He thought of home and people, and of places well known, and of those known only once and of those that would be never known at all.

But still he pressed his body forward, quick feet and hands and senses guiding him where thought had fled, leaving his body helpless to the powers of instinct and the giddiness that battle brought near. And within the sounds of metal striking metal, and the screams of man and orc, friend and foe, and strains and grunts of effort and courage, there came a shout through the darkened skies above.

'The eagles are coming! The eagles are coming!' But as he turned to use his fair blue eyes to seek their beauty and the soaring majesty of such creatures, a blow rained down hard upon his head, and he fell toward the foul and bitter earth with no more than a sigh of wistful longing escaping his lips.

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Please review if you have something to say, I need all the help I can get! 


	2. Chapter 2: Beneath a New Sun

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing.**

**Oh...and this has a lot less 'did' in it, I promise! I need a beta reader though, so if anyone is interested, please let me know!**

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Chapter 2: Beneath a New Sun

Aragorn paused in his fight, his eyes sharpened by battle lust and his body tense amidst the chaos of shadowy death and destruction that surrounded him, pounding his senses from every direction. He too heard the call of the Eagles, and watched as they flew overhead, soaring freely and proudly in the smoky, acrid air that hung with heavy heart above the battle field of evil.

And as those splendid birds swooped through the searing air with wings of knives, a tumultuous roar rose from the mountain beneath which all other lands did lie, Mount Doom. Lava, vivid red and brilliant bitter orange rose and cut between the blackened day, and lit the desolate and loathsome plain with a vibrant glow as if a sunset. Or the sunrise of a new day marred by death and the spilling of such blood. All around him as he stood, the orcs began to flee as a scream, more terrible than any heard before or since, rose from the tumbling tower of Sauron.

Aragorn's heart lept with joy and relief as he realised what this meant, these fleeing creatures and this bright new light within the sky. It was over, their task, so hard and tortuous it had been, was complete, and the world was rid of such an evil as Sauron. But as his veins flowed swiftly with the emotions he had not felt for long minutes and days, he watched the lava, red hot and fast, flood from the place the Ring had now been cast, and he feared then for those who had granted these lands freedom and lasting peace from the threat of Mordor and the ever powerful leader.

What of two hobbits, small amidst such an outpouring of heat and fire? He wondered and knowing with head that none could survive such fury of a mountain, he fell to his knees, his heart clenched in rage and sorrow of their loss. Lifting his tear filled, stinging eyes, he saw Gandalf raise his staff and light up the whole of the still lurking darkness with such purity that there was pain to be found in gazing into it.

Then suddenly, he was gone, alight upon an eagle and with swift wings flying toward Mount Doom, and the rescue of two creatures who had saved the world. The tight clenching of his heart eased a little at the thought of the possibility of seeing the hobbits again, and kneeling before them in heartfelt thanks. His friends, so small and yet with such courage and bravery that it was unrivaled within the realms of Man or Elf, or even Dwarf, and he hoped with all his might, with all emotion that was left within his body, that they would be found and could be brought to happiness and unburdened life again.

So with hope and happiness within his heart, he stood again and cast his gaze around the battlefield, fast emptying of all those Orcs who could still run and flee from sight and sound. He saw the dwarf, the noble, courageous Gimli, sitting upon a body of said creature, counting out with fingers short and stubby, the numbers of his slain. He saw Eomer pull his helmet off and free his golden hair to touch the sun that now streamed across the dead and injured, and he smiled with fierce pride at the warrior. He was proud of all his friends this day, this day of renewal and rejoicing.

Seeing the gentle waving of his hair, his thoughts turned toward the fair Elf who had sought him out amid the carnage and destruction of so short a time ago, for he could not see Legolas standing among those who wandered aimlessly in shock and dreams, searching for those who had not lived to see this day, and those so injured they knew not what had come.

Picking his way through bodies stinking still of death and evil, he made his way to Gimli, who was finished in his counting and now stood in wonder and disgust of the sights before him.

'My dear dwarf' he began, resting a stained and weary hand upon his shoulder and looking out with him to the many thousands who lay and stood their.

'Ah, Aragorn. Tis good to see you made it though this petty squabble' the gruff voice said, with an ironic snort of laughter emanating from within the beard. 'And so did both the troublesome hobbits, for I see them there in anxious wait for news about their friends. But where is that pesky elf, for I wish to see his face look in wonder at this dwarf when I tell him my total for this skirmish?' Gimli looked expectantly at Aragorn as if he assumed he knew all answers to all questions, but Aragorn shook his head slightly and looked around him in hope that the Elf could now be seen.

'I do not know Gimli, for he fought with me, side by side, for many minutes but it is also many minutes since I caught sight of our dear friend and I do not see him standing now upon this battlefield.' Concern radiated from them both as they turned four eyes to search the survivors still upright now.

'You mean...' Unspoken words hung in the air between the two, as deep brown eyes met Gimli's face with tender confirmation of his meaning. The hand upon his shoulder tightened so it was better felt beneath the armour, and came as slight comfort to the fearful Dwarf.

'Let us not assume the worst for now, Legolas may simply have evaded our gaze and will come to us with shining smile and exuberance at having been a part of such momentous times. But I feel...' and here he paused for a few heavy seconds as his eyes cast sorrowfully toward the scattered chaos of dead and injured men, 'I feel that maybe we should start our search amongst those lying upon the ground, for mayhap he is hiding within them.'

Gimli grunted with ill hidden worry, and begin the foul walk through black bodies and dark stained blood of the stinking evil dead, turning them over with a push of his axe where they lie upon one another, and could be disguising the delicate power of an elf. He muttered as he walked, concern stricken across the battle worn lines of his skin.

'Come Legolas, where do you hide? Trust an elf to disappear without a trace. You can never trust an elf, especially not one with his ill sense of humour.' Aragorn, hearing these whispers even within the murmurs and movement as the army searched amongst the dead for survivors and their friends, knew that there were no longer ill feelings between Legolas and Gimli, that these complaints and discontent was simply the speech of a friend worried and unable to speak the dread within his heart.

And so they searched long after the Eagles had soared over their heads, carrying with them the weakened, exhausted figures of the heroic hobbits, not stopping to watch the graceful, powerful forms of the birds fly toward the city of Minas Tirith. The wings brought with them more light from the sun, shooting through the darkened air that still hung as a veil over the beings moving below. Aragorn and Gimli grew weary with the stench of death, and every time they found a body of one of their own, they called to the carriers who had swarmed across the field and they were lifted with careful reverence and respect for their ultimate sacrifice. When a man was alive, the calls were louder and more desperate, and men ran to gather them and return them to the House of Healing to treat their wounds and recover their strength.

Suddenly, as the sun began to set behind the long standing mountains, Gimli turned over the body of an Orc, heavy sword still clutch within the death grip of his wicked claw, and caught a glimpse of fair hair stained with drying blood and rancid dirt from the Orc above.

'Aragorn' he shouted to the still searching ranger and he came at a scrambled run across the field toward the dwarf, wonder and worry etched upon his face. They bent down together, frantically but carefully pushing the disgusting bodies of the dead away, and there, on his face, lay the elf. His hair was in disarray across his back, stained with blood still seeping from the back of his head. Aragorn, with a cry of dismay and anguish pulled at the Elf's shoulder, turning him upon his back as Gimli bent and supported his head with his rough and loving hands.

And there did appear the beauty of the elf, still shining through the mud and blood stained across his fair face. Aragorn bent and brushed with urgency, the muck that covered his mouth and nose, and bent down low to hear whether there still existed breath within the Immortal Prince. His hand hung above Legolas' lips and his ear pressed down onto his chest to check for life amid his body. For seconds seeming to drag like hours, and silence hanging above the two friends anxious for the answers they so desired, the dwarf burst out with grief and anguish.

'He is dead, and so our friendship meets its end with sadness such as I had never expected to feel for such a being as an elf.' His despair was so apparent that a sob left his lips and at the sound of his own sorrow the emotion overwhelmed him at the passing of such a dear and wonderful companion, and he wailed with loss and undiminished heartache.

'Nay, wait a second to begin your grieving, dwarf.' Aragorn spoke with quiet authority and Gimli held his tongue with strength of will and character. 'I feel the whisper of a breath against my skin, and hear the almost silent murmur of his heart that beats within his chest. But time is urgent and he needs more healing than I can so grant, and I cannot give the guarantee that he will survive the travel to the city.' Gimli raised his head and shouted to a stretcher bearer standing nearby, and he came at a run because of the dwarf's harsh and urgent tone. Aragorn and Gimli gently helped the bearer move the Elf's damaged body onto the stretcher, and Aragorn lifted one end with careful delicacy, designed to cause no further harm or pain to him.

Gimli walked beside them as he and the stretcher-bearer started the long walk to the carts that had now arrived to carry all the dead and injured to the city and safe sanctuary. He held the hand of Legolas and any person watching this strange procession of a elf near the door of death, and the dwarf so caring and loving toward him, would have believed that madness after battle came to them. But there was no madness here, merely the concern built from many hours spent in each others company, and many times when their lives did depend upon each other, they knew the other would not fail them. This was love born of strength and fortitude, and trust. And now the one did walk close to the Halls of Mandos, teetering toward the doorway to eternal death, and Gimli spoke to him as they made their way across the barren land.

'Ai lad, I wonder how many you managed to send to death before this dreadful act did threaten your life in such a way. Well, you had better stick around for I have boasts of my tally to tell to you, and you have lies to make up in return of your count!' He sighed and looked out on such destruction, that brought to mind such pointless sacrifice, though he knew that any sacrifice to rid the world of evil was not pointless at all. He knew that all the lives that ended here were given freely and courageously, and to a worthwhile cause, for without the eagerness of their sacrifice, there would still hang the ultimate evil above their heads.

Much as he knew that Legolas would give his life as willingly as those who died, he hoped that this would not be the case, and the Elf would have his chance to sail the seas toward the Undying Lands where so many of his kin now lived without the knowledge of their recent successes.

'I wish I knew some of your songs, that might bring you back to the world of the living. But I know nothing but the songs of drink and feast and rousting in the halls of Dwarves and Men.' Gimli said with regret tinged through his voice, and Aragorn turned to him and smiled a gentle smile.

'I think that I would not sing such songs to Legolas, for they may cause him to retreat forever to the Halls of safety at the sound of such a voice of yours.' Gimli snorted with a smile, and turned to the unconscious elf as if he were sitting beside him, and listening with a smile upon his lips as well.

'You hear how he does criticise me young elf? You have a worthy successor to the task of Dwarf provoking if you do not wish to return and take your role once again.' Aragorn smiled back and looked as well at his silent sleep.

'Do not fear Legolas, for none shall ever be so good at tormenting this here dwarf as you, and I would not dare attempt to reach the heights that you have set in this task. But I will sing to you, in the hope that this will then dissuade the dwarf of doing the same.'

And as the army began to move back toward the city and their homes, they did so with the sound of their leader ringing gently through their ears with songs in Elf that they did not understand the words of, but still spoke to their weary and confused hearts. Confused for most did feel the joy and relief that this war against evil was over, and had been one by their side, but grief for those who fell in this task.

Soon Aragorn and Gimli caught sight of the battered but still standing city that lay stark white and ghostly across the fields of Pelennor, still scarred with the unhealed marks of recent war but shrouded now in the clear darkness of a star filled, brilliant night. And both did wonder as they looked upon the fair and sleeping face of Legolas, and heard the weak and irregular breaths that did push from his body, what morning would bring for Man and Dwarf and Elf.

Would death or life be found within the rising of the sun?

TBC

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	3. Chapter 3: Fears and Memories

**Disclaimer: Usual stuff, I own nothing!**

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Chapter 3: Fears and Memories

The city rose above them, a welcome sight after the scenes of evil and death that the eyes of all whom had fought had been subjected to. It came as the first warm day after a long bitter winter, or the sight of a friend returning from a far off place to talk before a fire and laugh and smile and enjoy all manner of love and comforts.

Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief, and looked down upon the still unmoving face of the Elf, silently thanking Valar and whomever else was responsible for the survival of Legolas so far. It had not been certain, even with the speed at which they travelled to reach the place where healing may come more readily to him.

Gimli still sat beside his friend upon a bale of straw within the cart that made their journey easier and less tiresome. His head dropped forward and loud snores cut through the murmurs of the wheels and the talking all around from those who walked to home with them. He had not rested through the night, when death had seemed to creep a pace behind the Elf and reach its dark and shadowing hand to still his tired and weakened heart. For some long hours Aragorn had held a mirror to the Legolas's lips and watched for every wisp of steam that clouded its silver surface. But then the breathing had appeared to, almost imperceptibly, become easier, and they had continued on their way in exhaustion after such a tense and energy consuming night as that.

For his part, Aragorn would rather fight a thousand battles with all manner of enemy or foe, than spend a night beneath the stars, waiting for his dear friend to breathe again, and fearing this may yet be the last movement of air to leave him. But now they were here, before the gates that stood open and welcoming to all those who made their slow and steady way across the fields. His eyes picked out the damage to the city, his city, and the words of ownership that filled his mind shocked him to his core, at the responsibilities that lay before him, and the things that must be done. But for now, the tending of the elf's still unexamined wounds were the only thing he dared to set in stone for him to do. He had not felt able to examine him properly, with no healing herbs or bandages to hand. He had run his fingers over his body and checked for heavy bleeding from any wounds, but there had been none, save for the still oozing blood from his head that, though slow, managed to soak through any cloth that he pressed against it, never halting in its tracks.

They wound slowly up the levels of the city till they reached the the place where Aragorn wished to lay his friend, to tend him properly and find out what must be done to save his life. He walked ahead as bearers carried Legolas in through the doors, and made his way fast to the empty room, where he set out jars and boxes of healing herbs and clean water that would wash away the last dirt and foul touch of war upon his hands. He turned as they entered behind him, and slid the still unmoving elf onto the clean white sheets, thanking the bearers with a murmur just loud enough for them to hear. He sent a page, anxious to please, to find another healer to come to him, for he feared there would be too much damage for him to deal with alone, and then, with a deep breath of calming air, he began.

Cutting away his shirt, he exposed his chest and saw the bruising spreading purple across his pale skin. Prodding and probing, he ascertained that there were only two broken ribs, a wonder considering the battle they had been through, and rubbed an ointment upon the bruise to help it heal faster. He tended cuts and bruises but no more serious injury did he find than that upon his head, and he turned his attentions there as the other healer entered the room.

With gentle movements they removed the cloth from the side of his head, and washed away the drying blood that caught within his hair and the edges of the wound. They saw that there was a fracture, radiating back and also forward, and Aragorn gasped at the damage done. Feeling with delicate fingers at the front and back of his head, he could just feel the crack beneath the skin there as well.

'Why, they cracked his head in two!' The other healer nodded and spoke for the first time since entering the room.

'It is a wonder that he survived, for I have had others in my care these last few days with lesser wounds than his who have still moved beyond my reach into the lands of dead.' Aragorn looked upon his fair face, and smiled almost to himself.

'A wonder indeed, but I would expect nothing less from this Elf, for he is the strongest and the bravest of all I have met.'

'Strong and brave he may be but he has many hours and days struggle ahead of him if he is to wake and see the morning sun rise over the hills again. We must be wary of fever and pain, for they will set him back upon his road, and always always we much ensure he keeps remembering to breathe, for his downfall may come when he lies so exhausted that his body forgets to tell him what it must do. '

Aragorn nodded, and thanked the man for his words of wisdom, though all that he said had been known to him already. He knew the fight that lay ahead and feared that Legolas may yet not have the strength to win the most important battle he had encountered so far.

Pressing crushed herbs into the wound in the hope that it would stop the bleeding and stave off infection, he bandaged his head again and sat with thoughtful look upon his face.

'Ah Legolas, if I had to choose one tough enough to survive such a wound, it would be you. And yet my heart bleeds to see you lying in such silent fragility, for I know that if I had to choose it would not have been you cut down upon the field of battle. How can I ever hope to cope without my faithful Elf beside me every step I take?' Exhaustion caught up with him then, and tears of tiredness, worry and sorrow stung his eyes and threatened to fall with abandon, as Gimli's had when he feared his friend had died.

And Gimli then walked through the door, clean and with new clothing on, trousers that reached down to his feet and stretched for a good foot behind him as he walked, and a shirt with sleeves that hid all of his tough hands. Even amid his faltering hope, Aragorn smiled at such a sight, and Gimli grunted at the humour in the situation.

'I am hoping they will have found clothes to fit a dwarf before the elf wakes, for I am reluctant to allow him to laugh at me while I remain so appareled. When might he return from his enforced slumber?' He moved closer to the bed and watched his dearest companion's pale and lifeless face, and heard Aragorn's sigh that past his lips without his knowledge.

'I wish it were now Gimli, but I fear t'will be some long hours and maybe days before our Legolas wakes, for the blow he had taken has shaken his head so hard it will take much time for it to recover, if indeed it ever will.' He sighed again, and took his eyes off Legolas for a minute as he gazed out over the bright day that greeted all who stepped outside.

'Do not speak of such despair to the hobbits,' Gimli said 'for they lie worried as it is and I fear their hearts would not cope if they were to hear such despondent news. Let them laze and eat for now, because that is one thing that even a dwarf cannot beat them at, their hunger!'

Aragorn smiled at that, and yet inwardly he scolded himself for his lack of care in finding out how those young masters fared.

'How are they all?' he asked and Gimli gave a smile that told him there was naught ill within their friends.

'Tired but happy, for the task is completed and they can spend much time talking to one another of heroic deeds, for stories they have plenty of. There never ceases to flow words from out their mouths! I think they would do well to learn some silence but even such a dwarf as I neither has heart or courage to tell them so.'

There then fell silence around the bedside, which hung for many minutes, and they sat companionably with one another as they watched their friend. Aragorn's thoughts drifted, to fights with snowballs at Rivendell, and camping out amid the beauty of the stars in Mirkwood, home of the Prince. He remembered laughs with Ellandad and Elrohir as they pelted the most beautiful elf in Middle Earth with so much snow that his hair was like a rats nest by the end, and his clothes were in disarray as they had climbed upon his back and attempted to put ice down it.

'_Ester, stop it, let us join forces and deal with those twins together for it is the least they deserve' and with smiling faces and laughing gaiety, the Elf and Man, best friends even then, had turned upon the twins and ran at them with fierce expressions and so much snow that they didn't stand and do battle but fled toward the house where snow was not allowed. But Legolas and Estel (as he was then) paid no heed to rules, and skidded along corridors with fast melting snow still clenched within their hands, before they turned a corner sharply and Estel in front collided with a solid person walking in the opposite direction. As Legolas slammed into him from behind, the snow he held spilled onto the person, and he raised his face with apologies ready in his mouth. _

_Elrond looked at his adopted son and friend, and scowled at such behaviour, while somewhere behind him he heard hard stifled laughter coming from voices he recognised. _

_'And what...I ask...is the meaning of this?' but although the words sounded harsh there was a twinkle in his eyes and Estel knew there was to be no painful punishment for this._

_'I'm sorry Ada, we...we got carried away.' Elrond looked down at the wet patch upon his front, and the snow melting at their feet. _

_'I believe it to be the snow that got carried. You two walked upon your own feet and chose your path as you saw fit, and straight into me it lead you! Well, there shall be no more playing in the snow today, you will go and learn something from some book that may better prepare you than chasing each other with snow will ever do.' And turning to his indiscreet sons, he looked at them with stern glance,_

_'And you two can go with them.' without another word he walked away, and they had obeyed him for a good three hours before the snow called to them and asked them to play again. _

Aragorn sighed at that memory. Such happiness unblighted by evil and death, though they had known of both long before that time. And now they sat, a King and a Prince, one close to death's door.

His head fell forward onto the bed, and his hand found his patient's one, his fingers seeking out his pulse, resting on it carefully. He would allow himself to doze, but he ordered his brain to wake him the moment there was a change in the weak but regular beating of his heart.

Sun drifted through the window, waning as the sun set vibrant behind the silhouettes of long standing hills, and night crept in to darken the air where the flickering, beautiful light of candles didn't reach. Both slept, one with no knowledge of his surroundings, nothing but the basic fight for survival, while the other heard all noises around him, and felt the pulse beneath his fingertips. Both slept, with no future knowledge of what may yet come. Both slept.

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Please review if you have something to say. I have the story plotted up to chapter 13 but not written, so your reviews won't change the way it goes but might make me write faster! 


	4. Chapter 4: Loss

**Disclaimer: If i didn't own anything before, i'm not going to now, am i? honestly, these lawyers have no sense ;)**

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Chapter 4: Loss

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Sun streamed in through the open window, bringing with it the warm breeze of a new fresh day. Circling round the still sleeping King, sitting by the bedside with his hand resting gently on the Elf's wrist, the wind's warm fingers ran through his dark hair and stroked his cheek, slowly enticing him from the depths of sleep.

He yawned, and then came to his senses, immediately inspecting Legolas for any signs of change, whether good or bad. It appeared that he was a little paler, resembling even more one of the ghosts that had helped them win their battle, but he tried to convince himself this was just a change in light, seeing him by daylight as opposed to the flickering candles of the night.

Leaning over him, and looking closer, he touched Legolas's forehead, and his hand tensed at how cold he was, feeling beads of chilled sweat that clung to his palm. It had not been an illusion, the Elf was worsening and he hadn't realised. He hadn't woken. Moving quickly over to the door, he opened it to find a page boy standing outside, waiting to be put to use.

'Go and find Gandalf. A healer. Anyone.' Aragorn's quiet authority showed through, and acted as if a pack of dogs was biting at the young boy's heels, as he set off at a run down the corridor toward the stairs. The ranger turned back into the room, and lifted the light but warm blankets off Legolas, searching the fragile body for any wound that he may have missed, anything that could be used to explain away the dangerous symptoms. He found the skin looking pale and grey, and the rise and fall of his chest weak, but no sign of damage that he hadn't already contended with. Brushing hair from his face with a weary movement, he sighed with silent resolve. Hope had existed for the elf if it had been simply his failings as a healer, something which could have been resolved. But it wasn't. It was that injury, that blow of evil that meant death still waited for the time it could claim its victim.

As he covered Legolas back up, laying another blanket over his unmoving body in an attempt to bring much needed warmth into the blood and skin that was slowly fading from this world, Gandalf walked in through the door without a knock but with a confidence that heartened Aragorn. Coming to the near side of the bed, he looked down upon the loved and valued member of the Fellowship with concern etched across his old, wise face.

'He is fading. I am losing him and I know not what to do.' Aragorn said, 'I have tried herbs and remedies taught to me by the greatest healer of our time, and yet they do nothing for such a wound as this. He still worsens and I can find nothing that brings him back from the brink.'

Gandalf closed his eyes, holding his hands a mere inch above the Elf's fair, deathly face and concentrating with such an intensity that Aragorn held his breath, fearful that the delicate movement of air could cause distraction for the wizard.

'We must open the wound again. I feel there is a pressure that should not exist within his mind. And we must clean it again, and bind the damaged flesh with fresh herbs. Mayhap this will help. Maybe it will not, but at this time it is all we can try.' He looked down at Legolas and sighed. 'If this does not help, we must keep faith in his strength and his stubborn courage. But I fear it will not be enough to battle such a grievous injury.'

As they began to unwind the bandages from his head, another healer came in through the door, the same as on the previous day. Seeing immediately what they intended, he brought water with a cleansing powder added, and they washed their hands before continuing. When the bandage was unraveled, Aragorn lifted, with firm but delicate fingers, the bloodstained pad of cloth from on the wound. The healer gasped when it came off, as blood flooded from the Elf's head with terrifying speed. He moved to press the cloth back on, but Gandalf stopped him with a gruff command.

'No. It must be released or it will cause further harm. This is not new blood. It has rested between his skull and his brain for many hours.' The healer nodded, and they all watched silently at the stream of crimson liquid that still left the wound and soaked the white pure sheets with complete abandon. Slowly, the rush abated to the trickle of a woodland stream, and Gandalf asked for a cloth soaked in pure water and cleansing powder, and squeezed it into the wound, checking for further bleeding. The water stained the dusky pink of a rose, and he pressed it away.

Aragorn anticipated what he would ask for next with a healer's knowledge, and handed over pungent crushed herbs that would now be enough to stop the bleeding from the wound that had already begun knitting together, faster than would happen in any Man upon the earth. The wizard and the King leaned over together to inspect the clean flesh, and Gandalf spoke what they both thought.

'Only an Elf, and such a brave and strong Elf as Legolas, could survive such a blow. Had this been one of us, we would now rest in another land, and never be able to return again to life.' Aragorn nodded, and reached for a new dressing and bandage to place around his head, saying,

'He is strong indeed, but this is not over yet.' Gandalf nodded in somber agreement.

'No, tis not. The worst may yet come, for the loss of blood and the shock of re-opening the wound will weaken him further. That was the only choice though, for he would be residing in the Halls of Mandos now if we had not done so. You must stay with him, for I have others to attend to, and I know no one better can care for him than you. But you must call me if you need help, and I will come.' Aragorn sat back down next to Legolas, taking his lifeless hand in his.

'I will never leave him. Never.'

Gandalf looked upon him with a sad smile pulling his lips, before gesturing that the healer should follow him.

'Good luck, fairest Elf in all this land, for there is nothing we can do now. Your fate rests with you, and you alone.' And with that pronouncement, he swept quietly from the room, leaving it silent save the breathing of the two beings, and the faint bird call from the trees that stood near the open window. Aragorn closed his eyes for a minute, listening to the purity and beauty of their song, and wished that he was hearing this with Legolas, for the Elf would stop and revel in the sound, loving it with the whole of his body and mind, losing himself within it.

He opened his eyes and looked at him, his face as if asleep, save his closed eyes.

'Can you hear them Legolas, even within your slumber. Can you hear the song of birds and the whisper of the morning breeze? I hope you can, for I know that they would comfort and strengthen you.' As if answering this tender speech from the ranger and friend who sat near to him, a noise came from Legolas, the first sound he had made since he had been felled before the Black Gates.

Aragorn sat up with a start, moving closer to him and pricking his ears for any sign of recovery. The noise came again, and shock streaked across the man's face as he stood up fast, leaning over the elf. Legolas's breath was coming in rattling, pain filled waves, each inward movement agony to him. He was gasping for air, but his body would not give it to him, and the noise came louder as he found with the constrictions on his chest, invisible straps squeezing the life from his body. Death stood over him and pressed upon his heart and lungs, and slowly his lips and fingernails turned a delicate, deadly shade of sea grey blue, and the breathing slowed and shallowed.

Aragorn held tight to his hand, and moaned with grief and desperation at the seemingly inevitable passing of his friend.

'No mellon-nin. Not now. Do not leave me now when the world is so full of peace and happiness. Do not leave me with such a grief, for I will never recover. Please, Legolas. Please.' His begging filled the air, taking up the space that had been inhabited by the Elf's loud breathing, but now he lay as silent as the dead, with only a whisper of air passing between his lips. Aragorn laid his head on his cold and weary body, and cried tears of mourning into the cloth between them, tears that came as blood from his heart as it began to shatter.

His mind, in its grief, brought to the fore loving memories of happier times. Times of games and songs and friendship that had laid the foundations for the bond there now existed between them. Races on horses through the woods surrounding Rivendell, the wind in their hair and laughter on their lips as they sped between the watchful trees to the finish line. Then it was night in his thoughts, the first night he had heard Legolas sing.

_They sat around a flickering campfire, watching the dancing flames leap into the darkening sky with joy, weaving their way around each other and changing shape, unconfined within their power. The trees seemed to come closer to the warmth in kind companionship, and all around the fire sat in comfortable silence as they digested their evening meal. Aragorn sat opposite Legolas, seeing the Elf's face lit by the passionate flames. Next to Legolas was Elrond, joining his sons and their closest friend for an evening of pure relaxation. He had not allowed himself a time like this for a long time, and the elder felt he desired the company of young and carefree children to wash away the weariness responsibility had brought to him. _

_Eldahir and Elladan sat either side of Aragorn, and seemed to be falling asleep, lulled by the movement of the light, and the gentle noises of the woods around them. Suddenly, without a sound, Legolas stood with the graceful elegance he was well known for, and moved over to a tree that seemed to have crept especially close to them. All eyes watched him as he grasped a branch and disappeared into the leafy bulk of branches. Aragorn looked around at the others in curiosity and alarm, but none seemed to think this behaviour strange, and he relaxed again, though his mind raced with wonder at what was going on. _

_Then all other thoughts fled, as pure music streamed through the air and surrounded those sitting in the darkness, and they lifted their eyes to the stars and moon that scattered the night above. Words and emotions cradled them all, drifting through their very veins, and as Aragorn listened, it appeared that this was the world singing, of love and grief and all the meanings of life. This was the stars dancing, the trees sharing their wisdom and the moon comforting them all with love. The earth warming their hearts and all the beasts and birds joining in unison and celebration of this world. He turned to Elrond with wonder in his eyes and the Elder smiled at him._

_'It is Legolas. He learned to sing the songs of the world before he could string a sentence of speech together. And the world welcomed him as one of them and taught him all they know. He is the voice of all, and the only one who can sing with such beauty and such purity as this. He is the only one who sings to the stars in their own voice.'_

_They sat for many minutes and hours, soaking up the sounds and beauty, and hearing tales of the old and the forgotten, and many times Aragorn felt tears of happiness stream down his face. When the night ended, and the dawn broke through the trees, Legolas had returned as silently as he had gone, and all looked upon him with love and respect, and greeted him with honour. For he held the love of all living things, and all good and beautiful things upon the earth. And they were proud to know him.'_

Now it was tears of grief, and he cried for many minutes, unaware of place or time, but still the whispers of air came, weak but regular into the space above his head, mixing with the lingering taste of sorrow that emanated from the man. They came, and they were there when the tears flowed no more, and lay in stains of salty trails upon his weather worn skin as he lifted his head and looked at Legolas. The Elf was still breathing, something Aragorn had neither expected nor dared to wish for, and where grief and sorrow had just made its way through his body, now the beginnings of hope travelled that path.

For minutes that seemed as impossible to count as they had when he had sung for the first time, Aragorn watched him breathe, and his heart leapt and missed beats when it seemed that it would grow stronger or weaker again. But after many hours, the blue had faded from his lips; his skin, though pale, was not the colour of death; and his breathing was still shallow but stronger and more regular.

Aragorn dared to stand and go to the door, asking for food and the company of Gandalf, and both came with equal welcome. As Aragorn ate quickly, the wizard inspected the still sleeping Elf and breathed a sigh of relief that was the sound of both their hearts.

'For the moment, he is out of immediate danger. Whether this will last, I cannot say, but hope now has a place within this room, and maybe it will drive death away altogether.' He looked over at the man, weary after so many hours watching Legolas. 'You should sleep. You can do nothing for him if you fall sick yourself, or collapse with exhaustion.'

Aragorn nodded, knowing that Gandalf was right. Night was encroaching on the room again, and the chair he sat in was comfortable and soft. He could easily fall asleep if he so allowed himself too, now that the fear and tension had lessened somewhat. 'You're right. I know.'

Gandalf noticed the reluctance with which he said this, and understood immediately.

'Do not worry Aragorn, I will sit with him and wake you at a moment's notice if there is any change in our dear friend. I promise.' With those gentle words, the King relaxed back, his eyes closed and he was asleep within minutes, breathing deeply and dreaming well. Gandalf sat in silence as the stars spent their night dancing in the sky above them, and he watched as more colour came into Legolas's face, and the breathing deepened so it almost matched that of Aragorn's. He had made it through the hardest day and night, and was now healing. All they had to do was wait for him to wake.

When morning came, it found Aragorn refreshed and alert as the sun made its entrance through the window. Both he and Gandalf smiled at how improved Legolas looked, though they knew the real healing could be declared started when he awoke from his long sleep. They sat and talked in low murmurs as sounds of life came from behind the closed door, and they waited. For how long they did not know.

There was darkness. Darkness and pain. There had been darkness and pain for so long that he couldn't imagine what there had been before, though he knew there had been something. He remembered how hard it had been to breathe, and a light in the darkness that he had been pulled back from with warmth upon his cold skin. Pain, such pain. But now there was less pain, though it was still coursing through his body, and the darkness seemed to be clearing from his head.

He pulled his mind awake a little more, and realised that he was drifting towards consciousness, though whether in real life or nightmares he knew not. He could sense light through his closed eyes, and, letting his thoughts travel through his body, he felt a bed beneath him, and blankets on top. A pillow lay beneath his head which still hurt so badly he didn't dare move it.

The light made him believe it could be day time, but something was wrong. There was something missing in this picture he was building up, and he couldn't work it out. Deciding that opening his eyes was the only way he would solve this mystery, he did so, and immediately closed them again as the light of morning hit his long darkened eyes and shot through his head, increasing the pain. After a few minutes, and when the pain had subsided a little, he attempted to repeat his action.

Aragorn leaned closer to the Elf, not daring to believe what he had just seen. He thought Legolas's eyes had opened, just for a second, and he looked at Gandalf as if hoping he would confirm this as fact, rather than his own imagination wishing it.

The wizard was leaning forward as well, watching Legolas's face with the same intensity, and he spoke, his gruff voice gentle and calming.

'Legolas? Its time to wake up Legolas. The morning is here.' Aragorn held his breath and waited.

Raising his eyelids, he saw the ceiling of a room, and sunlight coming in through a window. Daring to move his head a fraction, his eyes focused on a shadow leaning above him. He recognised him, though it took his mind a little time to pluck the name from the darkness. Aragorn. Moving his head again, he saw the white beard of an older man, and knew this to be Gandalf. The wizard's lips moved, but no sound came out. Legolas looked at him with confusion and irritation. Why was he mouthing words at him? Why didn't he speak properly?

Gandalf was doing it again, and ignoring the rising pain in his head, he turned to Aragorn to ask him about the wizard's strange behavior. But to his horror, Aragorn was doing it as well. Legolas closed his eyes again in despair, his mind attempting to make sense of what was going on, where he was, and what had happened. The darkness seemed to have numbed and slowed his mind, and it took great effort to form thoughts that made sense.

Then, it struck him, like a bolt from the sunlit sky. He could see the shape of trees outside the window, but could not hear the whisper of the leaves. Nor was there the singing of birds, or the sound of his companions breathing. He couldn't even hear his own breathing. Maybe...

He opened his eyes again, and looked at Aragorn. The ranger's mouth moved, but still no voice came from it and the panic rose even more in his chest.

Gandalf and Aragorn looked at each other. Their relief at the waking of Legolas after so long was now tempered with concern for his behaviour. He had opened his eyes, and looked at them with recognition, and yet he did not open his mouth to speak. Why didn't he answer them?

Legolas tried to stop the desperation from being released, but he couldn't. He felt it coursing through his veins and rushing through his mind, pushing all other thoughts away, at the same time as Gandalf and Aragorn looked at each other again, both realising the same thing as had just overcome the Elf.

Legolas was deaf.

They looked in shock down at him, seeing that same emotion mirrored in his terrified eyes, and tears ran down Aragorn's face as a scream of fear, excruciating pain, and desperate agony, cut through the air. A scream that came from Legolas, but a silent scream to him. He could not hear.

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I know all that was pretty predictable - him nearly dying, grief scene, then making it through. In fact, this whole fic is going to be pretty predictable! and I know the idea of a disability has been done looooads before, but I hope this was a bit different.

Please review if you have something to say. I really really appreciate all your comments.


	5. Chapter 5: Hope In Silent Darkness

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing so why you think I'll suddenly have acquired something, I don't know!**

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Chapter 5: Hope In Silent Darkness

Aragorn and Gandalf looked at each other, the pain and shock imbedded within the old and weary lines of the wizard's face mirrored in the eyes of the king. The scream went on, searing through their minds and bodies and darkening the air around them with bitter grief.

'Legolas, please.' Aragorn spoke, but even as the words left his mouth he understood the pointless nature of this act. No reassurance, no calming sounds would help the Elf now, for there was nothing in his world but silence and pain, an agony as terrible as if he were forced to live forever under the shadow of the dead Nazgúl.

Instead, as Gandalf began a draft to calm Legolas and stop the still desperate screams of panic and despair slicing the air around them all, Aragorn moved closer to Legolas and wrapped his strong arms around him, holding the elf close to his heart and rocking gently. Legolas fought him, his tired muscles tensed as if desiring to flee, and his whole body reflecting the pain within his eyes and heart. Aragorn held onto him, stroking the fair hair with soothing hands as if holding a child within his arms, a child that screamed with loss and confusion. But still the agonising sounds went on, tortured noises of a soul in torment, and so they were forced to hold his fighting arms against his side and gently pour the bowl of dark and pungent liquid into his open mouth. As the draft of sleep took effect, Legolas began to relax, his eyelids slowly closing to hide the pain within the beauty of his eyes, and the scream weakened and dissipated, bringing a heavy, overbearing silence to the room.

Aragorn released his grip and laid him back down upon the bed, stroking the golden hair dampened with the cold sweat of fear away from his fair and sleeping face. Wizard and Man stood either side of the bed and looked at the damaged warrior between them, their shocked and traumatized minds racing to keep up with the events and the knowledge his awakening had brought.

'Deaf.' Aragorn was the first to break through the dreadful silence, his voice saddened and unbelieving as he spoke the word. 'How can it be?'

Gandalf shook his head sorrowfully, and without the ability to answer the question.

'This damage is out of the powers of my healing. I know not how to help or cure such an injury. I do not believe such harm has ever come to an Elf that has survived, for a blow that would cause deafness in an Elf would be expected to end their lives completely. Elves abilities to prevent or heal immediately such a disability as this are legendary. I know not of any one who has come back from so close to death as that blow must have taken him, for him to end up so.'

Aragorn sat in silence at these words, and thought through all that they had survived together. Though the man had so many times been left with cuts and bruises across his body, Legolas had not once been injured. No blood had fallen from his fair skin, and no damage had been inflicted upon him. For him now to be left in such a state, it was almost unthinkable. And yet the thought was there, and it was the truth. The war had ended but darkness still clung to even the most innocent of beings of the earth.

Gandalf spoke again, wise and calm against a backdrop of birdsong and sunlight that were now apparent again in the room, now that the screams of inner torture had been stopped.

'I will call for Lord Elrond. Perhaps the greatest healer of our time will know what can be done, for you and I can do nothing.' Aragorn nodded, his thoughts having traveled the same way during his inner journey.

Gandalf looked concerned as he watched Aragorn's eyes lie upon the sleeping elf. It was clear he was fighting emotions, and weariness was apparent even within the pores of his skin.

'He will sleep for many hours now. You must get some rest, for you will be no use to him exhausted. This will take much of your strength to help him through this.' There was no change in his expression, no movement made on his face save his breathing, and Gandalf moved around the end of the bed. Resting a comforting hand upon Aragorn's shoulder, he pressed him downwards into a wooden chair beside the bed.

'Sit. And mayhap sleep or rest will come to you while our fair friend sleeps. I will send a messenger to Elrond.' And with those words he swept from the room, his white robes brushing against the cold stone as leaves against the air. Aragorn's eyes fell to the floor, and slow as the falling of night, they closed, and his mind drifted toward the past. Thoughts of sound were impossible to fight against, times when Legolas' impressive hearing saved them all. Now this was no more.

'_Aragorn, they come near!' Legolas whispered to the man a few feet away, and watched as he pressed himself harder against the cool smooth rock he sheltered behind. The elf could hear the almost silent footsteps, the crackle of weight against the slowly dying leaves, and the creak as a twig bent beneath one of those coming toward them. His breath hardly made a movement to the air as he readied himself for the ambush, excitement and fear coursing through his veins. _

_Aragorn watched his friend, amazed at how he could have heard anything. No noise met the man's ears but he trusted Legolas implicitly, and knew that if he said they were coming, they were. A nod from the elf was all it took, and he leapt from his sheltered spot, weapons at the ready for the fight he knew would come to him. _

_A cry of fear went up from those stood in front of him as Legolas joined him without a sound, landing effortlessly onto the path. Those who had been ambushed dropped their weapons in surprise, and a smile flitted across Aragorn's face at the ease with which this had been won. _

_Elladan and Elrohir had identical expressions of fear and surprise across their faces, which soon dissipated to annoyance and anger that their younger brother and Legolas had managed to disarm them without so much as touching them._

'_How did you do that?' Elrohir asked, and Aragorn laughed, nodding toward the companion standing next to him. _

'_I heard you coming' Legolas said between the laughter that was breaking through his lips and shaking his body like a sapling in the first spring winds. 'You made so much noise it was if an army of Rocs trod these woods!' _

_Elladan looked at his twin, and then back at their attackers. _

'_That is not possible. We were being as silent as………as the most silent things on Middle Earth. No one can hear us when we walk in such a way.' Legolas snorted at this comment, so clear was it that this was not true._

'_Am I now no one, for I heard you and gave you such a shock that had we been enemy, you would be captured or dead by now! So much for your superior stealth!' As what Legolas had just done sunk in, all three looked toward the still laughing elf. Aragorn was the first to speak in wonder_

'_You mean, they weren't just walking normally? They were doing their walk of silence?' Elladan and Elrohir murmured assent at this statement. 'But…….But no one can hear that. Not even Lord Elrond can tell when they approach when they do that!'_

_Legolas smiled a satisfied smile at all of them, clearly proud of his abilities and achievements._

'_Ah, but not only did I hear their footsteps, but the air and natural world around me confirmed it. I simply employed them so that I would be certain when they came near.' The amazement grew across their faces as this statement sunk in. Elladan was this time the first to speak._

'_You spoke to the air? That………that hasn't been done since the days……..since Elrond was a child of a hundred years.' Legolas nodded and began to walk back toward their home of Rivendell, a spring clearly in his step._

'_Aye, and now it is done again.' And suddenly he broke into a run as shouts of 'Get him' broke from the others and their running footsteps sounded like a drum against the earth beneath them._

He broke from his reverie, and opened his eyes to the darkening air, realizing the afternoon had faded without his knowledge, and night began to take control. Legolas had heard the voices of the wind, and yet now he lay within a silence so complete it must be agony.

Hunger as well as darkness was creeping up on him, but still he sat within the nightshade of the room, and listened to the shallow breathing of his friend, and thought of many things. He sat until Gandalf came again through the door, and then he rose, stretching his legs out as he walked to the window, giving the wizard time to look again upon Legolas.

He saw the city stretch beneath him, lights streaming from windows and people moving through the streets. He heard the nighttime calls of the birds, and the speech of people close to where he stood. He looked to the waking stars, and the rising moon that spread its purity across the white stone of the buildings, reflecting it as if an Elven glow surrounded them all. Legolas had yet to regain his aura, and Aragorn turned away, the sight of such beauty too difficult to see when such dark emotions coursed through him.

Gandalf was watching him, holding a plate of something in his hand, and he gestured to it when he saw Aragorn looking. 'Food. You must eat.'

The ranger walked back to Legolas' bedside and took the meal from him eagerly, but did not start to fill his stomach. 'Did you send the message to Lord Elrond?'

Gandalf nodded. 'Though how much good it will do, I know not.' Aragorn sighed at those words, but no hint of despair was seen upon his face as he started to eat.

'I also went to see Gimli and the young Hobbits. They are all worried about Legolas, but are recuperating well. Even Frodo.' Aragorn looked up at this news and smiled.

'There is good news then, this day. Did you tell them about……about what we now know?' He couldn't bring himself to name the affliction Legolas had, and Gandalf smiled gently at him, understanding written across his wise face.

'I simply told them that he slept. There will be a time to give such news, but while they recover, I fear what would happen if we told them. They love him.' Aragorn smiled back at the wizard, and concentrated on the food in front of him.

There was darkness again. Darkness and silence and pain shooting through his head. He strained to hear something, anything that would tell him where he lay, or what was going on. Black clouds seemed to swarm through his head, blocking all sound, thought or sight from him, and there was nothing but pain again.

It was so easy, so tempting to slide back into the pool of midnight black that called him, but this time he fought. There was grey in some places, above his head, and it was toward this light that he tried to move, the effort seeming almost impossible and the black beneath him so inviting.

Suddenly, he could feel the bed beneath him, and gentle light pulled and nagged at his eyes for them to open. Still, there was something missing, something deeply unsettling but he couldn't place his finger on it. Thinking that opening his eyes would be the only way to find out, Legolas woke up.

Candlelight hit his tired eyes, but too his horror, so did the knowledge of his last awakening. There was again no noise within the room. He could not hear the sound of his breathing, or the breath of his companion. Nor could he hear the brush of blankets upon the bed as he moved himself slightly, or the noise of the plate being put to the floor as Aragorn turned to him. There was nothing, nothing.

He fought the scream that rose up again in his mouth, desperately trying to keep it down within his aching body. He didn't want to scream again, didn't want to feel the despair as Aragorn held him, or sense the pain the man was being subjected too. He didn't want it, and so he gasped a few quick breaths and stilled his heart that beat as swift as a mouse or tiny bird.

Aragorn had started at the movement on the bed, and swiftly placed his nearly finished meal on the floor. He could see the panic rising in Legolas' eyes and wanted to calm him before he got out of control and desperate. Sitting down onto the bed, he stroked the elf's fair face with a rough but steady hand to comfort and soothe him.

Legolas felt his hand against his face, and placed an answering hand on top of Aragorn's own, needing the warmth and touch of his dearest friend. He wanted to sit up, feeling helpless lying on the bed without movement, and so he tensed his muscles and moved his hands to rise into a sitting position. Aragorn immediately saw what he desired, and tried to help him, placing a hand behind his back to help him.

The elf tensed, but allowed him to offer the assistance until he was sitting with his back against the wall, propped up by pillows. He saw Aragorn smile at him, and suddenly felt like a lost child, in a world he could not understand.

'What happened?' The first words he had spoken since falling on the battlefield left his mouth, but he could not hear them. He did not know how loud he had spoken, whether his voice had worked, and the severity of his affliction hit him again, panic rising as it had done when he had first awoken.

Aragorn smiled at him, and nodded, letting him know he had heard and understood what he had said. But how to respond? How could he tell Legolas what he had been through, what had happened, and how much he loved him?

The elf was reassured when Aragorn had obviously heard what he had said, but the panic was still there as he knew he would not be able to reply in the same way. He wanted, no, he needed to know what was going on, and where his hearing had gone. Suddenly it struck him, the answer to the problem of communication.

'Write.' He still couldn't tell how his words were coming out, but they had the desired effect as his friend immediately stood, moving over to a table set in the corner, and returning with the paper, pen and ink necessary to recount all that had happened.

As Aragorn sat back down, he felt relieved that at least he could now communicate with Legolas, and smiled at him before he started to write. For minutes there was only the scratching of pen against paper, and Legolas looked around the room, noting the darkness outside and the warmth of the bed in which he lay. He saw the herbs beside him, and raised his hand to feel the bandage on his head, shocked at the size of covering over the injury. Before he could stop himself, he spoke again.

'How long? Days?' Aragorn looked up at him and nodded, before raising his fingers, telling the number of nights he had lain in sleep. Legolas looked in shock, he had felt as if it had simply been this afternoon that the darkness had taken him upon the battlefield. Aragorn handed him the piece of paper, and he focused all his attention on it, reading about the desperate search and the near fatal head wound. At the bottom, Aragorn had written,

'**All of us are well, dear friend. And we all love you dearly, _mellon nin'_**

Legolas smiled at the statement, and the emotion behind it, but as he did so dizziness overwhelmed him, and the world blurred before his eyes. His fear levels rose dramatically as he was left without sound or clear sight in this bitter world he had arrived in. Aragorn saw the pain and confusion marring Legolas' face, and pressed his chest back down, until he lay again upon the bed, and relaxed slightly.

Legolas wanted to close his eyes, to kill the dizziness that raged around him but he feared the silent darkness that would greet him if he did so. A world without sound or light was terrifying, and he fought against it with all his might, until after many seconds, he could focus and the room righted itself.

'Is there nothing you can do? I need to hear.' He kept his statements short, hoping that the words that left his mouth were still intelligible. The intense concentration required to remember how to speak was exhausting, but he did not want to be mute as well as deaf. Looking at Aragorn, he saw him raise his hands in an admittance of ignorance. This raised the hope in his heart a little, for it had not been confirmed that there was nothing to be done for him.

'Herbs?' The ranger shook his head sorrowfully. He had searched his mind, to the deepest depths of his learning, for any herb or plant he knew of that would return or improve the sense of hearing, but nothing had come to mind.

Legolas sighed, already exhausted by the few waking minutes he had spent, but he looked over to the window again, determined to find comfort in the night and not to sleep. However, what he saw there broke his heart, for the stars hung in the sky above and the moon sent her beauty across the earth. But the song was silent to him. The song of life that the stars sang to him in times of need was unheard, and the pain of his loss seared through his heart and mind.

'No, no!' The shouts of grief alarmed Aragorn, and he moved toward the elf, who was now shaking with the pain of realization. His head was turning frantically, as if desperate to make his hearing work again, but as he did so, Legolas felt agony sear through his brain, traveling along his eardrums as if knives had been pressed into them. He screamed, holding his hands against the sides of his head and feeling blood pour from his useless ears. Aragorn quickly reached for the draft that would send him to sleep again, but when he saw the crimson liquid seep from Legolas, he ran to the door and called for Gandalf, hoping that he would be heard by someone.

Coming back, he saw other liquid had joined the blood, creamy white pus as if there was an infection within his brain. Hope rose, for infections he could cure, but his first desire was to halt the pain the Elf was still feeling. Forcing a drink that would bring sleep down his mouth, he relaxed as Legolas sped toward a slumber so deep he hoped no pain would be felt there, and by the time Gandalf ran through the door, he was wiping away the blood from the sides of his face.

'It might be an infection.' Aragorn said quickly, and Gandalf came to touch the liquids with his fingers before moving over and beginning the measurements of plants and powders needed to combat such an internal and widespread infection as this.

The stars and gentle moon kept their vigil through the night, as hope still lived within the room, and they fought to deal with the still oozing blood and pus that came from the deadened ears.

Hope still lived, as morning light dawned and spread across the plain, creeping through the window and bringing warmth and fresh air. Hope still lived as they spread the paste upon the head wound and within the depths of his ears, and waited again for the silent Elf to wake.

But would hope stay alive?

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Please review if you've got something to say!


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